


At the Peak

by maddmaddworld



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddmaddworld/pseuds/maddmaddworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen moved to Summit County to work with her mentor and study the geology of the Rocky Mountains. She never expected to meet a sweet, shy snowboard instructor who would turn her first winter in Colorado upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Peak

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thanks to BaronessKika for pre-reading, brainstorming and being my go-to for this story (and for forcing me to finish it) and to Mellarkberries for her cheerleading skills, pre-reading and being patient when I promised her this 4 months ago.

_“And Mellark lands the 360 flawlessly! He’s headed back down. He needs to pull off a 520 to regain first place, and he’s UP IN THE AIR, HE NAILED IT! THAT IS SNOWBOARDING HISTORY, FOLKS! Let’s watch him hit that lan—Oh my god. Mellark is down, he’s down. That was one nasty fall, and he is on the ground and not moving. This could be a life-changing injury. Look at that leg, Caesar.  Again, for those of you just joining us, Peeta Mellark is down and not moving in the half pipe.”_

_“He’s still attached to the snowboard, and it doesn’t look like his leg is bent at the right angle.”_

_“No, no it certainly doesn’t, Claudius. Medics are moving onto the half pipe now, and it looks like Peeta Mellark’s days in the 2011 Winter X Games may have come to an unexpected and painfully abrupt close. We’ll bring you more details as they come to us.”_

_“It’s a bit early to speculate that, Caesar! Don’t count the boy out just yet!”_

_“But look at that leg, Claud. Just look at the boy’s leg!”_

* * *

**2013**

 

**Day 7**

 

“Good morning, Dr. Everdeen.”

 

 _Right on time_ , I think. I hear the heavy, uneven footfalls and the voice of Peeta Mellark, the mountain’s best snowboard instructor, before I see him approach. He’s all blue eyes and blond curly hair and built like a demigod, decked out in his mountain-issued blue coat and his black snow pants. Every girl who walks into this mountain lodge wants a piece of him.

 

And he’s wielding a cup of hot chocolate for me. The same cup he brings me every morning, and has for the last week. I don’t know why he does it, but I can’t say I don’t appreciate the chocolate fix. Besides, he certainly isn’t hard on the eyes.

 

“Mellark.”

 

“Hot chocolate,” he reminds me, handing the piping hot cup over.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” I say, as I have said every day for the last week. I tug at my braid and fidget in my seat. I’m not used to random acts of kindness. They usually come with ulterior motives.

 

He usually ignores this statement, but today he replies, “I wanted to.”

 

I raise my eyebrows at him. “What’s in it for you?”

 

He doesn’t miss a beat, replying, “The pleasure of your company.”

 

“Bullshit. You just want to get in my pants like every other asshole on this mountain.”

 

I watch his perfectly blond eyebrows shoot to the top of his head. “Wow. You’re a bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

 

I can feel the blush creeping up my neck and taking over my face. “That’s not—I mean—that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

 

I’ve lived here for all of three weeks, and have been asked out by six different men, all with a variation of _Hey baby, I feel like I just got lucky…or maybe you can help me feel that way later._ Or _Hey, gorgeous, you should let me take you out and show you a **real** Summit County good time. _I’ve passed on every offer. I didn’t pack up my whole life and move here for one night stands. I’m here to work on my research with my boss and mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. Up until my move, we had only met via Skype, email and phone calls. I don’t have time for _chilled out snowboarder dude-bros_ with long hair and funky patchouli oil smells and tie-dye snow jackets.

 

Anyway, at least Mellark brings me hot chocolate, and hasn’t _actually_ gotten to the asking me to fuck him part. And he smells like pine, not patchouli. That’s a plus.

 

He lets out a short chuckle. “Oh, and what did you mean? You think I only bring you hot chocolate every day because I want to see you naked?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wrong.”

 

“Oh?” His denial disappoints me, which in turn makes me irrationally angry. I don’t even like this guy, why would I want him to see me naked? _Because he’s the most beautiful thing on this mountain_ , the voice in my head answers.

 

“Mmhmm. I bring you hot chocolate every day because I want to see you smile,” he says, turning to leave. “Have a good morning, Katniss.”

 

My mouth drops open and I gape at him as he walks away. I certainly don’t smile. Not at all.

 

* * *

**Day 21**

 

“Everdeen.”

 

I am so exhausted. I’ve been hiking the mountain non-stop for the last three days, setting up and double checking every geological test I can think of. It’s six AM and I’m about to go back out there _again_. It’s snowing. I ripped my jacket yesterday. My beanie is already wet from the walk to the lodge from my apartment.

 

I don’t have time for Peeta and his stupid grin today.

 

“Mellark.”

 

He approaches me, offering the now familiar Summit Coffee House cup. “Based on how cranky you were yesterday, I thought you might need something stronger this morning. I brought you coffee instead. Hope that’s alright,” he smiles sheepishly—no doubt waiting for me to bite his head off, as I am apt to do—but I’m so stunned by his thoughtful gesture that no snarky comment emerges.

 

“I—thank you,” I reply. He smiles. I melt a little. _Shit._

 

He leans against the bar table I sit at and crosses one snowboard boot over the other. “How’s the research going?”

 

I roll my eyes and take a large sip of my coffee. It’s black. I crinkle my nose. I should probably grab some cream when he’s not looking. “You really don’t give a shit about the geological impact of manmade snow on this mountain, so why are you asking?”

 

He glances at me quickly, something like disappointment flashing there, before recovering with a cocky smirk. “Because I care about what you care about,” he offers, raising his eyebrows at me. He drops a couple of creamers on the table. He’s so thoughtful it’s disgusting.

 

I snort and stand to leave, but I can’t stop myself from running my hand down his arm ( _in thanks for the coffee_ , I tell myself). He’s solid as a rock. I take the creamers with me and walk away silently.

 

* * *

**Day 30**

 

I’m carrying my snowshoes up to the lodge after a long and grueling work day when I see the flash of blond hair. It’s his day off, so I know he’s just here to ride for fun. I’ve never seen him ride without small children or giggling teenagers tagging along and falling all around him. I’m intrigued.

 

I set my snowshoes down and settle myself into one of the lawn chairs outside. It’s 4:30, so the mountain is pretty quiet, and though night riding is open, usually only locals take advantage of it on a Thursday. Peeta is one of them, it seems.

 

He walks past me without noticing my stare—I look like I’m wearing 4 layers of bubble wrap under my black jacket, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t recognize me—and runs a hand through his unruly, wet curls. For the first time, I notice that he walks with a slight limp. I briefly wonder why before he distracts me by pulling a water bottle from his pocket and taking a long swig. How can he make something so normal look so damn good?

 

It’s snowing big, fluffy flakes and the glow of the afternoon sun adds to his splendor. He’s traded in his mountain-logo jacket for his personal one, a Neff blue & black soft shell. I ponder how he’s not freezing.

 

He’s also traded the tried and true Gnu freestyle board that he uses when he teaches for his _Lib Tech T. Rice Pro Model C2-BTX Blunt_ , which he proceeded to talk my ear off about the other day. (I still have no idea what any of that means, but apparently it’s “Rad”.) While I don’t understand the difference between the two boards, I do understand that its color matches his icy blue eyes, and I can at least appreciate that.

 

I stifle a groan when he drops his board into the snow and bends over to strap himself in. I wonder what that ass looks like without all the damn padding from his snow pants.

 

I give up. He’s hot. I admit it. Why he’s bothering to spend his time with me is a mystery; I’ve watched at least four girls ask him out in the last month. He always says no. Part of me wonders what’s wrong with him. The other part silently fist pumps every time he turns a girl down.

 

After he straps onto his board, he stands back up and jumps a little to dislodge himself from the snow. He pulls on a black beanie and goggles. He checks his iPod and secures his earphones before jumping up to turn himself facing left (goofy-footed, he told me once) and then he flies. I watch him glide and twist down the slope until he turns a corner and moves out of my line of sight. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever watched.

 

I sigh heavily and stand up, shaking the fluffy snowflakes off of me. I have a date with my book and a cup of tea, and probably some dirty thoughts about the snowboarder who buys me hot chocolate every morning.

 

* * *

**Day 40**

 

I can hear his snow boots against the floor before I see him, his uneven gait _thu-thunking_ against the hardwood.

 

“Your hot chocolate, Dr. Everdeen,” he says, handing me my cup and dropping into the chair next to me.

 

I give him my most grateful smile and bump my cup with his in cheers. “My eternal thanks, Mr. Mellark. What’s your schedule like today?”

 

Peeta groans and drops his head backward onto his shoulders. “I have 3 to 6 year olds this morning and then a private lesson with two girls this afternoon. Although—and please don’t take this as me being a cocky prick, because it’s not—I really think the girls only want to do this with me because they know who I am.”

 

“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely confused. “Who are you?”

 

He raises his head back up to look at me questioningly. “They know that—” he cuts himself off, crinkling his eyebrows at me like _he’s_ the one who’s confused. I don’t understand, but after a second or so, he smirks a little to himself and shakes his head. “Never mind. They’re just silly girls.”

 

“Ah,” I reply, studiously ignoring the confusion and jealousy that settle over me.

 

He watches me silently for a second, his eyes narrowed, before his face clears and he changes the subject. “What’s your day look like?”

 

“Three mile hike up Tommy Knocker to check on my samples, both today and tomorrow.”

 

“Ew.”

 

I laugh, “Says the snowboard instructor?”

 

“Says the snowboard instructor who does not hike on the mountain. My way is much faster,” he responds, giving me a look that clearly says, _Duh_.

 

I clear my throat and stare into his eyes, challenging. I loudly reply, “Your way is terrifying.”

 

He smiles and nudges my shoulder gently. “You should let me give you a lesson. I think you’d like it.”

 

“And let you laugh at me while I fall down the mountain? No thanks, Mellark,” I scoff. There’s no way I’m embarrassing myself like that.

 

He stands and walks toward me, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “I’d never let you fall.” He straightens and squeezes my shoulder as he moves toward the door. “Have a good day, Katniss,” he turns to leave but stops and doubles back. “Hey! I’m not going to be here tomorrow. I switched shifts with Finn so he can go on a date. Just so…you know…” the way he fidgets and stalls is ridiculously adorable, “So you don’t think I stood you up.”

 

“Thanks for the warning,” I answer, nodding in his direction. I’m not terribly shocked at the disappointment that floods my emotions.

 

* * *

**Day 41**

 

I burst into the science office, shaking wet snow out of my braid and shedding my six layers of clothing until I’m wearing only a red sweater, gray sweatpants and combat boots. It’s a whopping 6 degrees today and Peeta switched shifts with his buddy Finnick, so I didn’t even get hot chocolate this morning.

 

I’m cold and crabby and I just want to curl up and sleep for days.

 

Haymitch walks out of his office and heads toward me. “Hey Sweetheart, how’d it go today?”

 

“I snow-shoed through 3 miles of terrain and lost my pole on mile two,” I reply, “How has _your_ day been, Haymitch?”

 

“Better than yours,” he chuckles, pulling up a chair next to my desk, sitting down and propping his sock-clad feet on top of my stack of reports. “So what’s this I hear about you and Peeta Mellark?”

 

I run my hands through my braid and take a seat at my desk, turning to face him. “What? What are you talking about?”

 

Haymitch raises an eyebrow at me. “Word on the street is you’ve been having coffee with him every morning.”

 

I sigh and sink further into my chair. “It’s just coffee, Haymitch.”

 

“Sweetheart, every male employee—and a handful of females—has asked you out since you got here. You haven’t said yes to any of them. What makes Mellark so different?”

 

I guess he’s got me there, so I reply with the only truth I can come up with: “He’s never asked me out.”

 

“I don’t believe that,” Haymitch asserts. He takes a long sip from the black Nalgene bottle he holds and waits patiently for me to prove him wrong.

 

“Truly, Haymitch. He buys me a coffee or hot chocolate before his first lesson every morning, we bicker at each other, and then I don’t see him for the rest of the day. End of story,” I respond bitterly.

 

It’s not like I don’t _want_ him to ask me out at this point. We see each other every day. We make each other laugh and smile. He’s the brightest part of my morning, most of the time.

 

He just…hasn’t done anything about it. Or even hinted that he _wants_ to. But my mentor doesn’t need to know that.

 

He snorts. “Sounds like love.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve got whiskey in that Nalgene bottle.”

 

“Maybe I do,” he chuckles. “Just do me a favor, alright?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Haymitch sets his Nalgene down and looks me square in the eyes. “Don’t break the kid’s heart. He’s been through enough. Sounds like he really likes you, and he doesn’t deserve to get stomped on by the universe again.”

 

I’m taken aback by the serious tone of his voice. I know that he and Peeta have known each other a long time, but clearly I’m missing something here. “What do you mean _stomped on by the universe_? And he doesn’t even like me, Haymitch, he’s just…annoying.”

 

He snorts again and takes a long pull of whatever is actually in his water bottle. “Do you know what he was doing two years ago?”

 

I roll my eyes. “Of course not. I wasn’t here.”

 

“Neither was he,” he replies, “Look up his name on the internet. Just don’t tell him I told you to do it. He ain’t too proud of that day.”

 

“What day?”

Haymitch gives me a glare that says, _Find out for yourself_ , before patting me roughly on the back and walking across the room into his office, slamming the door. He pops it open a minute later and shouts, “Oh, and he likes his coffee black with a pump of hazelnut—the sugar-free crap, just in case you were wondering,” before kicking it closed with his foot and retreating into his cave for the duration of the work day.

 

I roll my eyes, but mentally store that information. Just in case.

 

* * *

**Day 41 (2)**

 

When I get back to my tiny studio apartment that night, Haymitch’s comments overwhelm my thoughts and I find myself parked in front of my MacBook with a glass of Pinot Noir in my hand, searching _Peeta Mellark_ on the internet.

 

I feel like such a creeper.

 

A quick Google search brings up more than I expected. Photos of Peeta snowboarding, ads for Oakley snow goggles with Peeta’s face all over them, and finally, the footage Haymitch hinted at. I watch in awe as Peeta works the crowd before descending into the half pipe. It’s sexy. Almost as sexy as when I spied on him a few weeks ago. Watching him fly through the air has me entranced, and I find myself holding my breath every time his board soars over the half pipe and his body twists in the air.

 

I’m not prepared for what comes next.

 

“And Mellark lands the 360 flawlessly! He’s headed back down. He needs to pull off a 520 to regain first place, and he’s UP IN THE AIR, HE NAILED IT! THAT IS SNOWBOARDING HISTORY, FOLKS! Let’s watch him hit that lan—Oh my god. Mellark is down, he’s down. That was one nasty fall, and he is on the ground and not moving. This could be a life-changing injury. Look at that leg, Caesar…”

 

I wince as I watch Peeta miss his landing and fly straight down into the base of the half-pipe. I guarantee everyone in the audience heard a horrifying CRACK as he hit the ground. I stare at my screen as Peeta’s leg crumples and bends in an unnatural way. He slides down the slick base of the pipe a bit before ceasing all movement, except his fist, which is rapidly pounding the snow.

  
After he’s rolled out of the half-pipe, I keep watching to see the announcers get word that his leg has been broken in 4 places, and he’s got multiple ligament tears. He’d been taken directly into surgery, and speculation was that he’d never snowboard again.

 

And now I know where he got that limp from.

 

Tears well up in my eyes and I have to look away. My heart breaks for him.

 

Peeta Mellark was a top competitor in one of the most prestigious snowboarding events in the world, and because of _that_ day and _that_ injury, he now teaches the basics to snotty six-year olds for crap pay.

 

After my second glass of Pinot, and a bit more stalking of **_The_** _Peeta Mellark_ ’ _s_ pro-athlete past, I begin to wonder how he stays so positive and sweet. I know I would be a surly asshole if my dreams were destroyed like that, and somehow he’s just…not. Especially to me.

 

I wonder when the last time someone did something nice for him was. When was the last time Peeta Mellark felt like someone cared about him for more than his snowboarding skills? When was the last time someone was interested in talking to him about anything other than his injury? From what Haymitch hinted at, it’s been awhile.

 

The longer I think about it, the more I realize he never mentions going to see his family, or spending time with friends other than Finnick. He certainly never mentioned that he was an award-winning snowboarder. Suddenly, Peeta Mellark seems like a man who is utterly alone. A lump forms in my throat and I feel my chest tighten with the thought.

 

I silently thank Haymitch for the tidbit of information he granted me today as I push my lap top aside and head for bed.

 

* * *

**Day 42**

 

I arrive at Summit Coffee House at 5:50AM. By my estimation, Peeta should be walking through the door to pick up our drinks in about five minutes. I order for us, hot chocolate for me, coffee for Peeta, and am just putting the cups into a carrier when the bell dings and the object of my coffee purchase strolls through the door.

 

He’s already dressed for his lesson, as usual, his blue mountain-issued jacket unzipped revealing his white t-shirt underneath, and baggy black snow pants covering most of his snow boots. His hair hangs loose around his face, curls landing right in front of his eyes. I find myself stifling a moan when he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair. He looks up and cocks his head to the side when he sees me. I smile and wave his coffee at him. His answering grin is enough to light the whole block. I definitely made the right choice in coming here.

 

He walks toward me slowly, deliberately, as though he thinks he might be hallucinating. “Good morning, Katniss,” he says, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. I can feel my smile splitting my cheeks.

 

I hand him his coffee. “Morning, Peeta. Black with a pump of sugar-free hazelnut, right?”

 

His eyes go wide. “Yessss…how did you know that?”

 

“I have my sources,” I answer, smirking and wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. “By the way, the regular hazelnut tastes better.”

 

He gives a small smile and his eyes drop to stare at his boots. “I whole-heartedly disagree,” he pauses for a moment. “…At least let me pay you back.”

 

“Please!” I counter, “You’ve bought me coffee every day for almost two months. You are not paying today, my friend.”

 

He nods gratefully, glancing at me for a split second before turning his gaze. “Shall we?” He motions toward the front door.

 

“Yep.”

 

He holds the door open for me and puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk out. Even through my snow jacket, I can feel the warmth that radiates from him.

 

* * *

**Day 55**

 

Peeta Mellark is amazing with children. He’s got two toddlers hanging from his left arm and another tugging on his right leg. He’s smiling and laughing, and doesn’t seem at all put off by the fact that they’re not putting their snow gear on like he asked them to.

 

After I caught myself staring for the third time through my office window, I gave up and moved to a better vantage point, sneaking my head around a large stone pillar outside so he can’t see me. His smile disarms every child in his company, and if I’m being honest, it disarms me, too.

 

“What are you doing, Brainless?”

 

I jump and scramble around the pillar so he can’t see me, my braid whipping around my head and smacking me in the lips. “NOTHING!” My shout is too loud and too fearful.

 

“Wrong. Are you stalking small children?” Johanna Mason _would_ automatically think that I’m looking at the children. She has such a horrible mind. Great scientist. Great lab partner. Total freak. That’s what makes our friendship work…well, until today.

 

“NO! Of course not. Johanna, I am not a creep. What the fuck?”

 

“Then what the hell are you—,“ she pokes her head around the pillar and sees Peeta, who is now lacing up a small boy’s boot, “Oh, hellooooo, Mr. Mellark.”

 

I scowl and reach over to punch her, though she’s padded by her large winter coat. “Shut up.”

 

Johanna stays uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, alternating between watching me and watching Peeta. Eventually, she says in all seriousness, “You actually like him, don’t you?”

 

I’m taken off guard by her lack of mocking and I stutter, “No, I don’t, I—“

 

“You do. You totally do. Blondie managed to break down the Great Wall of Katniss Everdeen, and now you want to let him cross your moat and enter the castle!” She laughs heartily at her own bad joke.

 

“That made no sense.”

 

“But it was true.”

 

“No, it wasn’t,” I whine, “We’re just friends.”

 

“And you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat,” she retorts, staring me down.

 

I relent, “Look how great he is with those kids, Jo! He could be bitter and unhappy about where his life took him, but instead he just lets it go and has a good time. He’s so patient and sweet with them.”

 

“Katniss, he’s patient and sweet with you, too,” she says, and I’m shocked by the sincerity in her voice.

 

I divert my eyes and study my shoes intently. “I know.”

 

“You should ask him out.”

 

I huff and glance back up at Johanna, saying “He doesn’t feel that way about me.”

 

“How do you know? The man hasn’t been on a date since that bitch Clove broke up with him like, two years ago, and he’s certainly not buying any OTHER girl Ho Cho every morning.”

 

“Don’t say Ho Cho,” _That’s not even a word,_ “Who’s Clove?”

 

“The girlfriend he had when he was in the X Games. She dumped him while he was still in the hospital after the accident. She only wanted him for his fame.”

  
My rage is instantaneous, “That’s bullshit!” I yell, and then catch myself looking over to make sure he didn’t hear, “He’s such a catch! He’s sweet and kind and funny and—“

 

“And you need to ask him out. He’s headed this way, FYI,” she turns and calls out toward Peeta, who it seems has finally noticed us and is rapidly approaching, “HEY BLONDIE, KATNISS NEEDS TO ASK YOU SOMETHING!”

 

“JOHANNA!”

 

“Bye, Brainless,” Jo laughs, scampering away before I can smack her.

 

Peeta approaches and I offer him a smirk. He raises his eyebrows at me. “What’s up?”

 

“Oh, not…nothing. Jo’s just being evil, as usual.”

 

He hesitates for a moment, waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, he says, “Alright, well, I uh, I should get back to the kids, but I just wanted to say hey. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Yah, yah of course,” I offer lamely, “It’s my turn to buy, okay?”

 

“Anything you say, Everdeen,” he replies with a smirk, turning back toward the gaggle of children who are falling all over their boards, equipment and each other.

 

My mouth betrays my brain and I hear myself shout, “Wait!”

 

He spins on one foot—his good foot, I notice—and saunters back toward me, a grin spread across his perfect mouth. “Yes?”

 

“Do you…um… shit.” My teeth are chattering, and it’s not from the light snow that has begun to fall.

 

“That’s not a sentence,” he chuckles.

 

“Shut up, Peeta. I suck at this,” I admonish. _It’s now or never, Everdeen. Just do it. Rip the band aid. What’s the worst that could happen?_

 

“Suck at what, exactly?”

 

“Askingyououtonadate?” I spit, dropping his gaze and biting my lip.

 

He sighs heavily and mutters, “Damn.”

 

_Apparently that’s the worst that could happen._

 

I gasp and immediately try to back track. “Never mind. It was stupid. Please, please just forget I said anything okay? I’ll buy coffee for the next month if you just forget that I—“

 

“Katniss, shut up.”

 

I do.

 

He puts a finger under my chin and forces me to look up at him. “I’d love to go out with you.”

 

I’m so confused. “I…but you just—“

 

He puffs out a breath and admits, “I’ve been trying to find a way to ask you out for weeks. It’s incredibly hot that you worked up the nerve to ask me first, I just, I should have grown some balls faster, I guess.”

 

I can feel my eyes go as wide as saucers. “Really?” I can’t stop the Cheshire-Cat grin that overtakes my face. I must look like a complete idiot.

 

“Mmhmm,” he smiles, dropping his finger from my chin and rubbing both hands down my arms gently. I can barely feel the pressure through my snow jacket, but it makes me shiver nonetheless. “So, um…I really need to get back to them before they hurt themselves,” he says regretfully, “But I’ll text you tonight and we can hammer out the details?”

 

“Yeah, that sounds great.” I. Can’t. Stop. Smiling.

 

“Okay,” he breathes, rubbing my arm once more and smiling, “Good. Um…Have a great afternoon, Katniss.”

 

“You, too.” I pretend not to notice that he trips over a toddler’s snowboard as he walks toward the children.

 

* * *

**Day 55 (2)**

 

 **Peeta:** _Hi._

 

 **Katniss:** _Hi._

 

 **Peeta:** _So…you really meant what you said, right?_

 

 **Katniss:** _That I want to go out with you?_

 

 **Peeta:** _Yes._

 

 **Katniss:** _Yes._

 

 **Peeta:** _Good. What are you doing right now?_

 

 **Katniss:** _You want to go out right now?_

 

 **Peeta:** _Are you busy?_

 

 **Katniss:** _Well, no, but I’m sitting here in my sweats watching Game of Thrones. I’m not exactly date-ready._

 

 **Peeta:** _Can I come over?_

 

 **Katniss:** _Do I have to put on real pants?_

  
 **Peeta:** _No._

 

 **Katniss:** _Then yes. I’ll order Chinese._

 

 **Peeta:** _Wait until I get there to order._

 

 **Katniss:** _Why?_

 

 **Peeta:** _Just wait._

 

 **Katniss:** _…K?_

 

I give him my address, and then I wait.

 

* * *

**Day 55 (3)**

 

I jump when there’s a knock at my door less than five minutes later. _That little shit._

 

I nervously check myself in the full length mirror on my wall. Dirty black sweatpants and a University of Wisconsin sweatshirt. My braid is flying in a million directions. My makeup from this morning is long gone. When the knock sounds again I know I won’t have time to fix myself. _Oh well,_ I think, _at least I’m not false advertising…_

 

I don’t know whether to be shocked or impressed when I open it to see Peeta, clad in CSU sweatpants, a white t-shirt, black zip up hoodie and a backwards baseball cap, holding a bag of something that smells heavenly. He looks so comfy and inviting. I’d like to invite myself into his arms to cuddle.

 

He smiles nervously. “Hey, sorry. I…I didn’t bring Chinese. I already had the food when I texted you.”

 

“Ahh, so you were just assuming I was going to say yes?”

 

His smile fades and his eyes go wide. “Umm. I was hoping. Sorry, I should have asked what you wanted to eat, I just—“

 

His nerves are endearing, but I like confident Peeta better, so I interrupt his ramblings and grab his free hand, leading him inside and shutting the door behind me. “Whatever it is, it smells awesome. Come in. Sit. You want a beer?”

 

He finally relaxes a little as he sets the bag of food on my coffee table and takes a seat on my giant, comfortable $25 yard sale couch. “Sure, what do you have?” He shrugs off his hoodie and lays it on the arm of the couch.

 

“I got a growler of Pilsner from the Dam Brewery on my way home. Is that okay?”

 

He nods and says, “Yah. Were you planning to watch _Game of Thrones_ and get drunk by yourself?”

 

I blush and head into the kitchen to pour the beer. “Yes.”

 

“Well, at least now you don’t have to do it alone.”

 

From my vantage point in the tiny kitchen, I can see the back of his head as he looks around my apartment. “Yah, you’re alright company, I suppose,” I reply.

 

I watch his shoulders shake with laughter and it’s a beautiful sight. He pulls his hat off to run his hands through his golden curls and sets the hat down on the coffee table. “I brought calzones from Jersey Boys. I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got four of them. There’s cheese, all meat, all veggie, and a pepperoni & jalapeno. And if you don’t like any of those, I can go back.”

 

“I will eat whichever one you put in front of me,” I reply as I re-enter the living room, handing him a glass of Pilsner and settling into my spot on the couch next to him. I set two plates, knives and forks down on the coffee table, along with a handful of napkins.

 

He looks at me in awe. It makes me squirm.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“It’s not a bad thing, I promise. You’re just so…flexible.”

 

I snort the sip of beer I’ve just taken and give him an incredulous look. “What does that even mean?”

 

“It just means that girls I’ve dated in the past haven’t been quite so willing to try something out of their comfort zone or…eat calzones in our sweatpants on a first date…” He mumbles the last part and concentrates intently on the bag of food. I know it’s a silly conversation, but I’m not blind enough to miss how much this affects him. I fleetingly wonder why, but now is not the time to get into it.

 

“I love food, and pants are overrated.”

 

“Noted,” he smiles as he pulls four containers out of the bag. He sets them up in a row on the coffee table. “Do you want your own, or do you just want to share them?”

 

“I’ll share them with you. I want to try all of them!”

 

He chuckles and hands me one of the knives and forks before digging into the veggie calzone. I choose the pepperoni and jalapeno one. It’s silent for a few minutes while we eat. I keep sneaking glances at him, noticing his insanely long eyelashes and the way he licks his lips. I catch myself daydreaming about those lips on me and have to shake myself back into reality.

 

“You okay, champ?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at me when he notices my head shaking. He sets his knife and fork down when he’s finished, leaning back into the couch. I blush all the way to my ears.

 

I set down my plate and utensils and, feeling bold, I scoot closer to him so that our thighs touch. “I’m great. Umm…did you want me to start _Game of Thrones_?”

 

He puts his arm around the back of the couch on my side, leaning in even closer. “Sure. Am I going to understand any of this if I’ve never seen it?”

 

I jump back and push against his chest, appalled. “You’ve never seen it? Oh no, we’re starting from the beginning. You can’t skip ahead,” I admonish, standing up to change the DVD. I notice his eyes roam over me as I move; it sends another flush straight through my body. I change the DVD and settle myself back into the couch, this time curling up right next to him and pulling his arm down around my neck and shoulders. He relaxes, pulling me close and resting his hand on my shoulder, not letting his arm creep lower. _What a damn gentleman,_ I think.

 

We watch in silence for awhile, Peeta asking a question here or there. We each polish off two glasses of Pilsner, Peeta finishes another calzone by himself, and I’m feeling pleasantly buzzed.

 

I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable around a man. He doesn’t try to cop a feel, or even kiss me. I might take that as some sort of rejection, but every time I tilt my head up to look at him, he’s looking down at me with such an intense longing in his eyes that there’s no way I can misinterpret his actions.

 

He’s scared shitless.

 

I can feel his heart thumping against my temple. Something that Jo said to me pops into my head and I ask, “Why haven’t you dated in two years?”

 

He visibly tenses beside me, his eyes wide as he looks down at me. “I…how do you know that?”

 

I know I’ve said the wrong thing (I blame the beer), but I can’t take it back now, so I push on. “Johanna. She said you hadn’t dated since your accident. Why?” His grip on my shoulder has loosened considerably, and I get the distinct feeling that he wants to run far, far away from this conversation.

 

“You know about my accident?”

 

I shrug, placing my hand on his stomach and tracing a light pattern with my finger. “Haymitch hinted. Well, actually, Haymitch told me to Google you, which got my attention,” I drop my gaze from his eyes to my hand before continuing, “I…I felt really creepy looking you up on the internet, but then I felt really stupid for not knowing who you were, when obviously everyone else on this mountain does.”

 

Peeta grabs my hand to stop my movements. When I raise my eyes to his again, his stare is impossibly sad. He whispers, “Does it matter who I am? Does my past matter?”

 

“No! No, of course not, Peeta. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up, I just…you’re so sweet and wonderful and I guess…I guess I just want to know why you said yes to me when you haven’t said yes to anyone in two years.”

 

He’s still holding my hand away from him, his body tense, when he answers, “Because I didn’t think you cared about my past. I didn’t even think you knew.” He’s becoming more and more upset with every word. I don’t know how to respond—I _didn’t_ know, not until Haymitch said something—and I can feel my heartbeat speed up. I’m panicking.  

 

I say nothing, and he stays silent for a long, long time. Eventually he moves away from me and stands up. “I should go.”

 

“NO!” I yell far too loudly. He’s already putting his jacket on and heading for the door when I reach for his hand to stop him.

 

He turns to look at me with a defeated stare. “It’s fine, Katniss.”

 

 “No, it’s not fine, Peeta. Why are you leaving?”

 

“Because you don’t really want me here. You pity me, or you feel obligated because I buy you hot chocolate every day. Whatever it is, Katniss, you can just stop. I don’t need it, okay? I don’t need you to act like you like me.”

_Acting? He thinks I’m ACTING?_

 

“Peeta, it’s not an act! You’re an idiot if you think I’d waste my time on someone I don’t genuinely like.” His gaze softens just slightly and I take that as my cue to continue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up things that hurt you, okay? I like you. I like that you bring me hot chocolate, I like that you’re amazing with kids, I like that you listen to me when I ramble on about the mountain and geology and geeky science things. I like that you’re the only guy on the mountain who actually wants to know me instead of just trying to fuck me.”

 

At this, he flashes a barely-there smile, giving me the courage to keep talking. “I like that you smile _all the time_ and I like how I feel when you’re around. I don’t give a shit about your past,” _Oh god, I’m rambling and I can’t stop,_ “I saw _one_ YouTube video and it made me want to cry because you were hurt. It was awful. And I’m sorry that I’m ruining our date with my inability to be a normal human being who doesn’t bring up shit that makes you unhappy, but I really suck at this and I really like you and I…”

 

I cut myself off with a dramatic sigh, overwhelmed and embarrassed, and look at anything but his eyes. I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, hoping I’ll be struck by lightning before I blurt out anything else.

 

Peeta steps forward and grabs my hands, bringing them to his lips. He kisses the backs and palms of each. My head snaps back to him. I can do nothing but stare. After a tense moment, he finally smiles.

 

“Thank you, Katniss,” he whispers.

 

“For what, being a rambling crazy person?”

 

“No. For actually liking me.”

 

“Of course I like you! How could you think that I don’t? I mean I spend just about eve-“

 

My speech is brought to an abrupt halt when he grasps my hips and pulls me forward to kiss me. He tentatively moves his lips against mine, waiting for my reaction, which is immediate and electric. My right hand grips his shoulder while my left hand curls itself into his hair. My lips battle against his until there’s nothing in the world except him and me. He backs us up slowly until my legs hit the couch, where we unceremoniously flop down, his solid weight landing on top of me. It’s warm, so impossibly warm. And we don’t stop kissing.

 

When he pokes his tongue out and runs it against my bottom lip, I open my mouth wider to allow him access. He tastes like marinara sauce. I have to physically resist bucking my hips against the promising arousal I feel growing against my leg, reminding myself that I don’t want to move too fast. But I don’t want this kiss to end, either. And it doesn’t, until we’re both breathless and pulling away, heaving.

 

Peeta rests his forehead against mine while we catch our breath. His arms cradle my back and he holds himself away slightly so he doesn’t crush me. I’m smiling like a fool.

 

After a minute of just staring at each other lamely, he says, “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

 

I scoff and crinkle my nose at him. “Are you trying to get in my pants?”

 

He chuckles and sinks just slightly further into me. I can feel his perfectly toned stomach muscles constrict with his laughter. I have to bite my lip to stifle my groan.  “Are you going to let me?”

 

 _Yes, yes, yes._ “Not tonight. I’m not _THAT_ easy, Mellark.”

 

“Oh, you’re not easy at all, Everdeen.” He plants small kisses on my cheeks and forehead and lips before pushing himself up and moving to sit on the corner of the couch. I crawl over and deposit myself next to him with my feet sprawled over the rest of the couch. His arms wrap around me and I snuggle against him.

 

We try—and fail—to pay attention to _Game of Thrones_ , sneaking in a kiss here and there. I get goosebumps when he runs his fingers up my side. He chuckles quietly and whispers in my ear, “I’ll have to remember that sensitive spot.” A tingle of desire runs through me and I groan audibly. He laughs and wraps his arms tighter around me.

 

Later, he kisses me goodnight and goes home without complaining, except to say that sweatpants and HBO shows will not be acceptable for our second date. It’s that small detail that sticks with me. He didn’t push, or whine, or beg like men I’ve dated in the past, or the assholes who’ve asked me out since I moved here.

 

 _Good things come to those who wait_ , I muse to myself. And both of us have been very, very good.

 

* * *

**Day 57**

 

As usual, I hear his boots before I see him. Today, he leans down and kisses my cheek before pulling up a seat next to me. “Good morning,” he grins. He smells like fresh air, pine, and something distinctly _male_. It’s intoxicating.

 

“Hey, you,” I reply, sliding him his coffee.

 

He groans loudly. “Thank you. I need as much caffeine as I can get today,” he says, taking a large sip and moaning in pleasure before looking at me with a lazy grin on his face. I want to make him grin like that every day.

 

“What’ve you got?”

 

Peeta points to a couple of women across the room who are clad in bright pink snow gear and fussing over each other, pulling the tags off of their new gloves and hats. “Those two older ladies right there,” he replies, raising one eyebrow at me and smirking.

 

The two women take this moment to look over at Peeta and wave enthusiastically. They both blow kisses at him. I have to turn my head so they can’t see my laughter.

 

“They look like they want to devour you,” I note, “Especially the blonde. Hope you’re into cougars.”

 

He glares at me, “Nah, I prefer geologists. If that’s okay with you, _Doctor_ Everdeen.”

 

“Well, lucky for you, you have a date with a geologist tonight,” I reply happily.

 

Peeta leans close to me and whispers, “I don’t think they stand a chance against her, to be honest.”

 

I smile into my coffee.

 

Peeta grins and leans back in his chair, keeping one eye on the two ladies who are now waiting with bated breath for him to walk their way. “Can I pick you up around 6:30? I made reservations at seven for us.”

I nod, “Sure. Reservations? Do I have to dress up?”

 

“No, it’s pretty casual, I just wanted to make sure we got a seat.” He rises, pulling a beanie out of his jacket pocket to pull over his curls.

 

“Any hints?”

 

He leans down to kiss my cheek again. “Not one.”

 

I grab his face and kiss him quickly on the mouth. “Have a good day, Peeta.”

 

He grins wildly. “Oh, I will. See you tonight.”

 

“See you tonight.”

 

* * *

**Day 57 (2)**

 

Peeta picks me up right on time, smiling timidly at me when I open the door. He’s traded his usual white t-shirt for a forest green button down. His jeans hug every single curve, and I find myself struggling to not stare at his ass as we walk from my apartment to his small SUV. It’s a mild night, not freezing, so I chose a gray sweater dress and knee-high black boots. I even chose to leave my hair down. I sneak a kiss to Peeta’s cheek when he opens my door for me, and relish in the blush that engulfs his whole face.

 

We chat idly as we drive the four minutes to our destination, talking about the pink-clad Cougars he taught today and my samples. It’s pleasant and not at all awkward. Despite our nerves, we both move the conversation forward.

 

My jaw drops when we pull up to a restaurant called Sushi Town. I steal a glance at Peeta, who looks excited and nervous, and wonder if he somehow forgot that asking a person if she eats raw fish might be important before taking her to a sushi restaurant. I can feel my palms begin to sweat and my heart start racing.

 

He parks his green Xterra and hops out, coming over to open my door. I take his hand and let him lead me toward the restaurant, wondering how I’m going to navigate this delicate situation without upsetting him.

 

I steal glances at him but say nothing as he approaches the hostess. She quickly seats us, and I find myself staring at the menu, studiously avoiding looking at Peeta. I order a very large glass of white wine. _White wine goes well with slimy fish and seaweed, right?_

 

After a few minutes, where Peeta has been browsing the menu and I have been panicking silently, he says, “Do you know what kind of rolls you want?”

 

“Umm…”

 

He glances down at the menu and then back up at me while he speaks. “There are a few here that I really like, they have amazing ahi tuna. What do you usually get?”

 

“I…ahh…”

 

He looks up at me, alarmed by my sudden inability to speak. “What is it?”

 

“I…” I stall. _Better to be honest than to eat raw fish, Katniss._ I force myself to spit out,“I hate sushi?”

 

Peeta’s face drains of all color. “You…oh. I…asked Johanna what you liked,” he stumbles over his words. I roll my eyes. _Fucking Johanna._ Peeta looks completely mortified, shifting in his chair as though he wants to run away and never come back.

 

I sigh heavily, “Fucking Johanna. She knows I won’t touch this stuff with a 10 foot pole.”

 

Peeta’s face erupts in a bright red, a stark contrast from the ashen look he was wearing a second ago. He grunts and apologizes, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Katniss. If I had known, I never would have brought you here. I’m such a douche bag. I should have just asked you what you like.” He runs his hand over his face and stares intensely at the white tablecloth. He looks up at me and begins to stand. “Let’s just go somewhere else. This place doesn’t have anything besides sushi, really, and I—“

 

I grab his hand so he turns to me, silently willing him to sit back down. “Please, Peeta, don’t worry about it. I’ll just get the wontons and some egg drop soup.”

 

His brow furrows and his tone is harsh when he replies, “That’s not a meal.”

 

“Then I’ll add egg rolls and rice. It’s fine, really, get whatever you’d like.” I try to catch his eye, but he still won’t look at me. He sits down reluctantly and stares back at the tablecloth.

 

I suddenly wish that I had developed a liking for sushi, because the mortified and downtrodden look on Peeta’s face is enough to break my heart.

 

He’s silent for a moment before replying, his voice still harsh and gravelly, “I’m really not comfortable with this, Katniss. Why don’t we just go somewhere else?” He looks at me with pleading eyes before averting his gaze. I can’t help but notice that there’s more to his fearful look than just _Let’s find a new place for dinner_. Once again I find myself wondering what the hell other people have done to this man to make him so skittish.

 

My ultimate goal is to soothe his nerves and save our date, so I reply, “Peeta, it’s totally fine. I will literally eat my weight in egg rolls and wontons. I’m totally okay with this. Just…if you get smelly fish, don’t plan on making out with me later.”

 

At my comment, his head snaps up and he stares at me. I smile brightly at him and reach for his hand on the table. He lets me take it. He smiles shyly and grasps my fingers in his for a moment before the waitress returns to take our order. Peeta orders a mountain full of rolls I don’t understand, as well as tempura-fried everything, which I totally appreciate. I get myself three orders of egg rolls, one order of wontons and an egg drop soup. I try not to be embarrassed when Peeta’s eyes widen at the amount of food that’s put in front of me. To his credit, he says nothing, but I catch him stifling a giggle when I order a batch of potstickers the next time the waitress walks by.

 

We banter pleasantly during dinner, and I learn his favorite color— _orange, like the sunset_ —and that even when it’s negative degrees out, he sleeps with the windows open because he’s highly claustrophobic. I tell him about my sister, Primrose, and how Johanna and I met at college in Wisconsin and ended up in Colorado together by being the only two students strong enough to handle Haymitch Abernathy.

 

Throughout the dinner, Peeta asks repeatedly if I’m okay with the food, sending me nervous glances over and over. Eventually, I threaten to stab him with my fork if he doesn’t quit. This has the desired effect of both making him laugh and stopping his worried line of questioning.

 

After we’ve eaten our weight in Asian food, raw and cooked alike, he drives me home. He gasps quietly when I grab his hand over the console, but smiles when I hold it the whole way to my house.

 

He walks me to my door silently. I lean up and wrap my arms around his neck. I nudge my nose against his and whisper, “Thank you for a great second date, Peeta.”

 

“Yah,” he snorts, rolling his eyes.

 

“Look at me,” I demand. He focuses on me and offers the most pathetic smile I’ve ever seen. “I had a great time tonight, okay? I’ll let you give Johanna the tongue-lashing of a lifetime tomorrow, but don’t let her ruin our night.”

 

He nods, and before he can respond I lean up and capture his lips with mine. He responds immediately, holding tightly to my hips and kissing me fiercely. We stay like this for a long time. After a few minutes, I feel my back hit my front door, and I groan when he lightly bites my bottom lip as our heated kisses continue. His grip on my waist is strong but not painful, and he lets out a delicious moan when my hand snakes up the back of his coat and under his shirt to feel his strong back muscles.

 

I never thought I’d be the girl who made out with a guy on the front porch, but here I am, curling the fingers of my free hand into the hair at the nape of Peeta’s neck and letting his hands roam over my ass while we kiss in front of my apartment. Reluctantly, I pull away. He grabs me quickly and places one more firm kiss on my lips, not letting me go, but giving me enough room to breathe.

 

I’m panting heavily when I finally speak. “Goodnight, Peeta.”

 

“I thought you weren’t going to make out with me if I ate smelly fish,” he laughs breathlessly, not loosening his grip on my hips.

 

“I can’t help it,” I reply as I finally break free of his warm embrace and turn to open my front door, “You’re cute.”

 

He smiles giddily and nods, turning toward his car. “Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

* * *

**Day 60**

 

_I’m not ready for this._

 

“Are you ready?” Peeta asks, staring down at me. He’s wearing his Neff shell and black snow pants and boots, and is strapped tightly to his LibTech. I’m borrowing his helmet, so he’s opted for a black beanie to cover his ears on this mild day in Summit County. Orange-tinted Oakley goggles cover his eyes. I recognize them from the ads I saw on my night of internet-stalking _The Famous Peeta Mellark_.

 

I look like a marshmallow in a purple jacket, sitting pathetically with my legs splayed out in front of me. Strapped to my feet is an orange Burton snowboard—a rental—and Peeta’s helmet keeps sliding down my forehead and bumping into my pink-tinted goggles. I feel like a tool.

 

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see them. “No.”

 

He snorts and jumps toward me, dropping to his knees. “Katniss,” he chastises.

 

I push against his chest when he gets close enough. “ _Peeta_ ,” I mock.

 

We’re seated at the top of the bunny hill. Getting me to the top was hard enough— _ski lifts are SCARY_ —and now I stare down at the base, wondering how Peeta can possibly do this every day. It seems so _far_. I don’t want to admit defeat. I don’t want to disappoint him by not trying his favorite thing in the whole world. And he just looks so _happy_ right now, I probably couldn’t say no to this if I tried.

 

He leans forward and places a kiss on my cheek, skillfully avoiding smacking his head against my helmet. “You can totally do this!”

 

“Says the medal-winning snowboarder,” I huff.

 

He gives me a rueful smile and says seriously, “Do you want to stop? You don’t have to do this just for me.”

_I want to make you happy,_ I think. “I want to do it,” I reply determinedly.

 

He nods. “Then you have to stand.”

 

I lie back in the snow and stare into the sky. “I’m scared,” I admit.

 

He moves to lie next to me, face down, and puts his head near mine. Our boards clank together. “I promised you,” he reminds me, “I will not let you fall. Now, sit up and give me your hands.”

 

He jumps up quickly and positions himself in front of me. I grab his hands and he pulls me to my feet with little effort. He gives me a mega-watt smile and kisses me quickly before speaking. “We’re going to do the falling leaf.”

 

“The whaa?”

 

“Falling leaf. Left and right. Lean back on your heels and shift your weight left to go left. And then right to go right. I’m going to hold your hands the whole time.”

 

I don’t think I have any idea what he just asked me to do, but I nod. “Okay.”

 

He holds my gloved hands in his and delicately leads me to the left. I falter a bit, but lean back on my board and shift my weight, and we both slide down and left.

 

“See! That was good! Now to the right,” he guides. I stare studiously at my board and my feet, but I can feel his gaze on my head and hands as we silently move back and forth down the mountain. I can practically feel how excited he is. It makes me that much more determined to enjoy this.

 

We’re silent as we move. We make a particularly sharp right turn and I hear Peeta hiss. I break our silence and ask, “Does this hurt your legs, sliding around like this holding someone else up?”

 

He shrugs. “I do it for a living.”

 

“But with your bad leg?”

 

He tenses; we haven’t discussed his accident since our first date. He shakes it off quickly and responds, “It’s fine. It’s fun, and that helps. Little kids are easier because they’re not afraid to fall. Although, this,” he squeezes my hands and nods at me, “Is much more rewarding.”

 

I snort loudly. “What, watching your girlfriend eat shit?”

 

I freeze when I realize what I said. _Girlfriend. Girlfriend? Girlfriend!_ I am so concentrated on my slip that I don’t realize Peeta and I are moving in opposite directions. He falters, and tries to grab me before I lean away from him, but my board slips out from beneath me, hitting his, and we both go tumbling to the ground. He lands on top of me roughly, the edge of my snowboard digging into his shins.

 

He leans up quickly, removing his weight from on top of me, and scrambles to my side. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

 

I laugh heartily as I lay sprawled in the snow, staring up at the sky. “Well, you broke that promise real quick. Are your legs okay?”

 

Peeta clears his throat loudly and moves his snow goggles up so I can see his eyes. “Umm, I get a pass on that one.”

 

“Why’s that?” I ask, mimicking him and removing my goggles. He stares intensely at me.

_Oh.  
_

He hesitates for just a second before replying, “Because I just found out I have a girlfriend, and it was a little bit of a shock.” He won’t look into my eyes, instead choosing to focus on the pocket zipper of my snow pants. A blush covers his whole face.

 

I scramble to rectify the situation. “Peeta—you don’t—it was a slip of the tongue. If you’re not ready for something like that I don’t want you to force yourself into—“

 

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

 

He cuts me off so abruptly that I don’t have time to think before I respond, “Yes.”

 

He grins widely and jumps to his feet quickly, repositioning himself on his board and grabbing my hands. He pulls me to my feet and places a hard kiss on my mouth. “Then you’re my girlfriend. I’m certainly not buying hot chocolate for any other girl every morning.”

 

An embarrassingly girly giggle escapes me. “Johanna said that to me once, right before I asked you out.”

 

Peeta shakes his head incredulously and grabs my snow goggles from my forehead, delicately placing them back on my face. “Damn, you’re doing all the work in this relationship.”

 

“I know what I want,” I reply, leaning up to place one last kiss on his lips before he replaces his own goggles.

 

“I’m glad,” he responds quietly. He grabs my hands and begins to lead us down the mountain with slow, gentle glides of our boards.

 

After a few more silent minutes, I whine, “Get me down this god forsaken mountain. I need a beer.”

 

Peeta laughs lightly and begins moving us a little faster. “Anything you say, Girlfriend.”

 

I think I might enjoy snowboarding. Who knew?

 

* * *

**Day 61**

 

We’re halfway through a giant homemade chocolate chip milkshake and season 2 of _Game of Thrones_ when I finally work up the courage to say, “So, basically what you’re telling me is that your dad is amazing, and your mom was an unsupportive bitch.” I pick at the fibers on his couch, suddenly wondering if I overstepped my boundaries with that comment.

 

He takes a big slurp of the shake before responding. “I guess if you’re boiling it down to the basics, yes,” he laughs, but I detect a hint of resentment in his statement.

 

I shift on the couch, moving slightly closer to Peeta, snatching the milkshake out of his hands. “Why didn’t she support your snowboarding?”

 

“Honestly, my mom didn’t support anything I did. She never wanted me to take over the bakery because I wasn’t good enough. She didn’t think I had the brains to do it. My grades weren’t good enough, my girlfriends were all sluts, the college I chose was too lax. I just…wasn’t her favorite.”

 

I nod, sucking down some more of the shake. “And then when you started snowboarding professionally, she just—“

 

“She told my dad I wasn’t good enough, and that she’d had enough of us wasting her time. She left. My dad wasn’t nearly as torn up about it as he could have been. He was at every single competition, he supported every new thing I tried. He’s got this really great life now, with my brothers down in Denver, and the bakery does well, and he’s seeing this woman who he thinks is the love of his life. It all turned out in the end, I guess,” he shrugs. He leans over as if to kiss me, but when I lean in he grabs the milkshake and gives me a shit-eating grin instead.

 

I cock an eyebrow at him. “And where’s your mom?”

  
“Don’t know, don’t care. She called me while I was in the hospital, just to tell me that she saw me fall and she knew I’d find some way to fuck up. It hurts, you know? I finally found one thing that I’m truly good at, and it was taken from me. I’m just glad I still get to snowboard at all. It could have been much worse.”

 

I know it’s a dumb question, but I still ask, “Do you miss competitive snowboarding?”

 

“Yes, but I knew it wasn’t a forever thing. I would have had to find another way to live eventually. I just hate the way it happened. I felt like it was just ripped out from underneath me. I moved out here and started over completely. If it weren’t for Haymitch’s offer to put me up for awhile, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

 

I nod; Haymitch has done much more me than he’s willing to admit, too. “For a surly old man, he sure has his redeeming qualities.”

 

“That he does,” he replies, setting the milkshake down on the coffee table.

 

I decide I’ve had enough of this heavy stuff, and I can tell by the look on Peeta’s face that he has, too, so I bring up a topic that’s been weighing on my mind since we started this conversation. “So…a bakery, huh?”

 

“Oh yes. Mellark’s Bakery & Deli—Pride of Denver since 1982.”

 

“So what you’re saying is that you are a baker in disguise and have been holding out on me.”

 

His eyes pop out of his head. “I…I can bake you something, sometime…”

 

“Oh, you better. I can’t believe I have a baker on my hands and I didn’t know it.”

 

“Well, I didn’t mean to offend, Dr. Everdeen,” he replies seductively, sneaking ever-closer to me on the couch.

 

I feel goosebumps break out all over my body. I start to feel a pleasant buzz of anticipation pool in my gut. “Not feeding me is very offensive, Mr. Mellark.”

 

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he growls, leaning over to pin me to the couch and kiss me senseless. We kiss for what feels like hours. Eventually, he leaves my lips and turns his head to place gentle breathy kisses against my neck and collarbone. I instinctively buck up against his hips, where I feel the beginning of his promising arousal through his jeans.

 

He leans up to kiss me again, biting my bottom lip lightly. I feel his left hand snake its way up my torso, hesitating just briefly at the base of my bra before he gently cups my breast. I keen and push myself further into his palm. Taking this as a positive sign, he continues to knead my breast and tweak my nipple, all the while never letting his lips leave mine. I let my hands roam down to his belt, and swiftly unbuckle it before my hand slides into his jeans.

 

He pulls away from me and gasps loudly, staring down at me with eyes full of lust and want. I grasp his length through his boxer-briefs and smile approvingly. He lets out a snort and rolls his eyes at my approval and attacks my lips once more. Growing bolder, he moves his hand to slip under my bra and I moan when his warm hand engulfs my bare breast.

 

I can’t take much more of this teasing, so I push him off me and sit up quickly. He backs off immediately, staring at me with big blue eyes. Before he can ask what’s wrong or apologize, I grab the bottom of my t-shirt and pull it over my head. His eyes go wide when I reach behind me to unclasp my bra next.

 

“Ooohhh shit,” he breathes as he takes in my bare chest. I can feel the blush that’s creeping from my forehead to my neck, but I don’t move. I bite my lip and wait for Peeta to take the next step.

 

I’m not expecting him to stand up and move away from me at this point, so when he does, I cover myself quickly with my arms and search frantically for my shirt. _Too fast_ , I think. _I’m moving too fast. He doesn’t want this._

 

He seems to notice my dilemma immediately, because he smiles and walks back over to drop to his knees in front of me. “Upstairs?” He asks. _Oh. Relocation. I can handle that._

 

I let out a relieved breath and nod, and before I know it, Peeta has me in his arms. I pretend not to notice the way he watches my bare breasts bounce as he carries me up the stairs and to his bedroom.

 

He lays me down gently on the bed. It smells like him; I want to burrow myself into this bed and snuggle for days—later. Right now, I want nothing more than for Peeta, who stands at the foot of the bed, removing his jeans, to crawl over me and claim me. And he does just that.

 

He moves quickly, and I realize that he’s trying to conceal his bad leg. I sit up quickly and run a hand down his scarred calf. He freezes mid-crawl, and stares at me. I smile and kiss him gently, rubbing his leg lightly before lying back on the bed. He gives me a small smile, and I know he understands what I’m trying to communicate. _It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I think he’s beautiful._

 

He moves over my stomach and takes my nipple into his mouth, biting down just enough to make me squeal.

 

I reach down to grasp him again and the groan he lets out sends shivers down my spine.

  
“Peeta?” I ask softly.

 

His head shoots up and he stares at me warily. _Like I’m going to tell him to stop_ , I think incredulously.

 

“Can we—umm—do you have—“

 

He nods quickly, “Yes.”

 

I smile. “Good. Come here.”

 

He leans forward and quickly unbuttons my jeans, pulling them and my panties down in one swift movement. He goes back a second later to remove my socks from my feet, making me giggle. “It’s weird,” he explains, “You shouldn’t wear socks during sex.”

 

“Agree. And you are overdressed now, sir,” I tease, gesturing at his very-tented boxer-briefs. He quickly removes the offensive article of clothing, and I can’t stop my jaw from dropping at the sight of him.

 

He’s amazing.

 

He blushes at my scrutiny, but says nothing as he climbs back toward me on his knees and grasps my hips lightly. I open my legs to him and he pauses, staring at me—all of me— intently before leaning forward and tracing his tongue up my stomach to the valley of my breasts. He peppers my skin with kisses as he grinds against me lightly. I feel myself grow wetter with every move; the tip of his cock rubs against me, teasing me to the edge of insanity.

 

“I want you, Peeta,” I moan, wrapping my legs around his waist. He nods, reaching over to grab a condom from his bedside drawer. I lie back and watch him glide the condom over his length, pinching the tip and tossing the wrapper before leaning over me, holding himself up by his elbows.

 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath before whispering, “It’s been a really long time since I’ve done this.”

 

I kiss his nose and reply, “I’m not worried,” to which he lets out a loud laugh and kisses me soundly before taking himself in hand.

 

He slides into me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. He feels incredible, and I tell him as much. He groans loudly and begins a slow, torturous grind. I pant and moan, and beg him to go faster, but he keeps up his slow rhythm, causing my stomach to swoop and my heart to pound in my chest.

 

This is no random fuck.

 

I can feel everything, every movement of his muscles, every single inch of him pushing into me, and I can feel how much he cares for me in every single thrust of his hips. It’s a slow burning torture, and when he leans down to whisper in my ear how sexy I am, and how lucky he is to have me, I feel my walls begin to constrict around him and I shout loudly as my orgasm rips through me. Peeta moans and begins thrusting faster, faster, finally coming loudly, shouting my name.

 

He peppers kisses on my face, my neck, my breasts and my collarbone as we both come down from our high. Slowly, he pulls out and kisses me briefly before running his naked ass to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. I giggle, but do the same thing when I go to clean up moments later.

 

When I re-enter the bedroom, Peeta has a glass of water on the bedside table for me and is lying in bed, leaning against his headboard, grinning at me like the cat that caught the canary. I slip back under the covers— _now_ I can snuggle into them and wrap myself up in the smell of pine and clean linen and _him_ —and he moves over to lie down next to me, propping his head up against one hand, sneaking his other under the covers to caress up and down my bare hip.

 

I sink deeper into the covers, popping up over them just enough so my head is uncovered. “Hi,” I smirk.

 

“Hi,” he responds happily. “This was a perfect date,” he says quietly.

 

“Yes, it was. We should have sex and milkshakes more often,” I yawn, letting my eyes flutter shut.

 

He’s silent for a few moments, his head sinking down onto the pillow. Then, “Katniss?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Stay with me?”

 

“Always,” I whisper as I finally drift off to sleep. I feel Peeta press a kiss to my forehead, and lean over to turn his bedside lamp off.

 

* * *

**Day 70**

 

I’m packing up for the day when I hear commotion outside my window. I see Peeta, on his way to pick me up, stopped by two long-haired snowboarders in obnoxious striped jackets who are yelling at him from across the sidewalk. They each hold a tallboy of PBR and are swaying from side to side.

 

I crack open my window to listen.

 

“Hah, look it’s Peeta Mellark. You used to be a great snowboarder, until you ruined your career with a jump that was way out of your league,” Bozo #1 yells, slapping a high five with his buddy. I cringe when I see Peeta clenching his fists and shaking his head, trying not to let them get to him.

 

Bozo #2 yells, “Out of his league like Clove was out of his league!”

 

“Man, it must have sucked to find out she was fucking Cato Billings while you were in the hospital.”

 

Bozo #2 shouts out, “I mean, she LITERALLY went for the gold!” The guys are clearly drunk, and they cackle loudly while Peeta tries to ignore them, but instead of walking around the corner toward my office door, he’s standing ramrod straight, not moving an inch.

 

I quickly slam my window shut, grab my backpack and run out of the office.

 

As I’m rounding the corner, I hear Peeta finally reply, “You’ve had your fun, guys. Leave it alone.”

 

One of the Bozos guffaws and yells, “Heard you’re trying to get with that scientist, Everdeen. Good luck with that shrew. She’s hot, but she’d never go for a guy like you. Especially when she’s fucking me.”

 

I can’t see Peeta, but I can hear the venom in his voice when he growls, “She’s not fucking you.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

I turn down the sidewalk quickly and head straight for Peeta. “BecauseI’m fucking _him_.” I point at Peeta, whose face turns ashen at the sight of me, “and only him,” I finish by wrapping my arm around his waist and leaning up to place a possessive kiss on his lips for good measure.

 

“What the fuck, man? How’d you get the shrew to finally crack? You break her down with your sob story, make her feel sorry for your pathetic ass?”

 

Peeta pulls me closer and responds, “Oh, not at all, I just showed her my giant cock and she was sold. Have a nice life, dickheads.” My eyes go wide and he quickly turns me in the opposite direction, walking us toward the city center and the fire pit, which is, thankfully, abandoned for the evening. I sneak a glance back at the two men, who glare at the back of Peeta’s head in shock. I flip them the bird and snuggle closer to Peeta’s side as we walk.

 

As soon as we’re out of earshot, he pulls away from me and runs his fingers through his hair while pacing in front of the pit, which is still putting out a warm, inviting flame. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was the most asshole thing I’ve ever said in my life. You know I don’t think you’re only in it for sex, I just couldn’t get them to back off, and I didn’t want them to say anything else about you. God, I’m such a fucking asshole, I’m so sorry, Katniss,” he blows out a large breath and stops pacing, but he still won’t look at me.

 

I approach him slowly, grabbing his hands out of his hair and lacing his fingers with mine. “It’s fine, Peeta. Look at me.” He does. “I know you don’t think that about me. You know I’m not just in this for the sex—although the sex is pretty amazing, you know,” I pause for a second to relish in the blush that crosses his features. I do love making him blush. “Does that happen a lot? Comments like that?”

 

“Not a ton anymore, but it happened a lot after Clove dumped me. When your competitors and former friends find out that your girlfriend dumped your sorry ass while you’re recovering in the hospital, it’s ammo for life. I never felt more pathetic than I did in that hospital.” He holds my hands loosely but doesn’t look me in the eyes.

 

I pull his chin up with one hand so he’s forced to make eye contact with me. “She was an idiot.”

 

Peeta shakes his head sadly and mutters, “She didn’t want to be with a loser.”

 

I glare at him. “She wasn’t with a loser. She was with an _incredible_ man. And I know that because he’s mine now. And thank god she _didn’t_ know it, or I never would have gotten the chance to be with him.”

 

I pull him toward me quickly, kissing him hard and wrapping my arms around him tightly so he can’t break free. He responds eagerly to my kisses, but I can feel every tense muscle in his back, neck and jaw.

 

“Peeta—“

 

“Are you going to be terribly upset with me if I cancel our date tonight?”

 

I pull away slightly and roll my eyes at him. “Peeta, don’t let them get to you like this.”

 

He shakes his head and gives me a hard stare. “I just—I can’t be what you need me to be tonight. I just need to be alone, okay?”

 

“Peeta, I don’t really think you should be alone right now.”

 

He keeps his arms around me, but his grip has loosened as if he’s gearing up to let me go completely. “I’m fine, Katniss, I’m just not very good company. I need to clear my head a little. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

 

“I know a few ways to clear your head,” I suggest, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

 

“That sounds amazing,” he attempts a smile and fails miserably, “But I really don’t think I’m in the right headspace to take care of you the way you deserve tonight.”

 

“So let me take care of _you_ ,” I offer, sliding my hands up the back of his jacket, relishing in the warm, hard planes of his back.

 

“Maybe later, okay? I just…” He trails off pathetically, and I know it’s time to let this argument die.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Don’t be mad.”  
  
“I’m not,” I lean up and kiss his forehead before leaning in to whisper in his ear, “You are an amazing boyfriend, and a great snowboarder, and a wonderful human being, and I’m so happy that you’re mine.” I kiss his cheek quickly before pulling myself from his arms and walking toward the bus stop that will take me home.

 

I spare a glance back at Peeta, who’s standing in the same spot I left him, staring at me with something akin to disbelief and awe in his eyes. I grin as I walk away.

 

* * *

**Day 70 (2)**

It’s 8:49PM when the knock sounds at my door. I’ve managed to fall asleep on my couch watching reruns of _The Big Bang Theory_ on TBS…again. I straighten my tank top, which has ridden down to reveal my bra, move my sweats back to their proper position on my hips, and check myself for drool before opening the door.

 

Peeta stands before me, clad in a simple red hoodie and jeans. He looks awful. His hair stands in all directions and his face is red, probably from repeatedly running his hand over it in frustration. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him. I pull him into the apartment and into my arms, running my fingers through his hair as he clings to me.

 

I walk us to the couch, where Peeta toes off his shoes and lies down, pulling me on top of him. He doesn’t speak. He plays with my hair while I listen to his heart beat. We lay like this for a long, long time before Peeta finally finds his words. “I’m not used to being around someone who’s so supportive of me.”

 

I roll slightly and place my chin on his chest so I can look at him. “Because of your mom,” I venture.

 

“My mom, Clove…I guess I’m just having a hard time grasping that you’re on my side,” he admits sheepishly.

 

I furrow my eyebrows at him. “Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”

 

“No! Not at all,” he stammers, “I just…it’s nice…and a little frightening, how much you actually like me.”

 

“Ditto,” I offer, raising my eyebrows at him. He laughs, but he knows it’s true.

 

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time, Katniss,” he mumbles quietly.

 

“Well, I’m hoping that I’m the best thing that’s happened to you FOR a long, long time, too.”

  
Peeta grins wildly and asks, “Is that a proposal?”

  
I scoff, “Don’t jump the gun, champ,” I say, patting his chest mockingly. “I’m just saying that I’m planning on keeping you around for as long as you’ll have me.”

 

He tickles my sides until I’m gasping for breath and wriggling around on top of him. “So that _is_ a proposal then!”

 

I push away from him and tease, “You’re a bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

 

He just grins at me and wraps his arms around my waist, sitting up suddenly and taking me with him. He stands up, my legs wrapping instinctively around his hips, and smiles broadly as he walks us to my bedroom.  I think to myself idly that this is the beginning of a really, really good life.


End file.
